


Monsters Calling Home

by liwellen



Series: Pound of Flesh [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liwellen/pseuds/liwellen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was waiting for you to speak, but you felt like words only knew how to ruin things - and even though it was hardly perfect between the two of you, you wanted to keep it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters Calling Home

Everything in you was a fight.

Your very name was a goddamn curse:  _Parrish, Parrish, Parrish_. You’d long learnt not to flinch when you were called, but it still reminded you that you were your father’s son.

You meant it when you told Blue you were dirt - you came from dirt, and would always be dirt. So when Ronan Lynch finally held your hand, you ignored the way your heart swooped, and focused on wondering when the magic would end.

How long would it take for him to let go and scrunch his face at his stained fingers?

How long would it take for him to regret ever holding onto you?

You told yourself that Ronan was still Ronan, and you thought this was a story of barbed wires, bayonets, and grenades - it was not a love story.

 

* * *

 

You were almost always fighting with him.

Most days it would dissolve on its own soon enough, like sugar on liquid tongue; but other days, it felt like the Trojan War - bloody and never-ending.

It was the small things, like the bill at Nino’s; but also bigger things, like how you ducked your head in shame when you ran into old neighbors from the trailer park. Ronan got mad at that, but didn’t he know that some things were burnt into you?

Sometimes the question of choice was irrelevant.

Those fights dragged out things from the past, like an accountant balancing a check book. It was the rent, it was him calling you Poor Boy, it was the car, it was his affinity for alcohol that you hated so much, it was the marks on your skin that he hated in return… it was nothing at all.

You couldn’t even remember what the fight was about in the first place anymore, but he was still yelling at you and you were shouting back.

Finally he bit out, venomously, “Are you happy now?” and your blood ran cold.

Although Gansey was safe, the vision had never left the crevices of your mind. You had told Ronan about what you saw one dark night, when the two of you were side by side on your rickety old bed at St. Agnes, but you never did tell him that he was there too, crouched beside his dying best friend, saying the very same words.

When you didn’t answer - couldn’t answer - he muttered, “Fuck this,” and drove away. You watched him do it, and the only thing that felt real was the shame.

You couldn’t sleep that night, but that wasn’t new. Cabeswater had always made it difficult, but this was something else entirely. You felt it in your veins, and you felt it in your bones. The bed made sounds of protest whenever you turned.

You were never able to sleep whenever he left angry.

So you grabbed your keys and drove to Monmouth. You ignored Gansey’s look of surprise, and only nodded when he noted that it was late. You went into Ronan’s room without knocking, registering his annoyance from where he was sprawled on his bed. He raised his eyebrows when you kicked off your shoes, but still moved to give you space when you crawled next to him, and you thought that it had to count for something.

He was waiting for you to speak, but you felt like words only knew how to ruin things - and even though it was hardly perfect between the two of you, you wanted to keep it anyway.

So you grazed your lips over his cheekbone as a silent apology, because only you knew how much he liked that, and hoped that he would take it.

You were holding your breath until he finally huffed out, “You’re such a dick.”

You answered truthfully, "I know," and wrapped your arms around him.

 

* * *

 

You were all in Cabeswater that afternoon.

Blue and Gansey were kissing until Noah threw bits of grass at them, and then they were off chasing him like children. You were watching him look at his mother and Matthew laugh at something neither of you could hear. Even though he wasn’t smiling, you knew that he was happy. It was all the more evident when he didn’t smirk or mock growl when you softly touched the back of his neck.

You weren’t sure what made you remember the time when Noah had let loose the fact that you had sent Blue flowers. That felt like a million years ago, but all of a sudden, you couldn’t seem to shake off the way his face had twisted darkly.

Maybe that was what made you do it. That night when you were alone scrying in your room, you decided to ask Cabeswater for a favor. You were good enough lately for it to say yes.

You brought Ronan back the next day, and he turned suspicious after you pointedly ignored all his questions. Time was a funny thing in that place, and it was fall when you arrived with him in tow. You saw it before he did, but you also knew that he thought trees were just trees and they all looked the fucking same to him.

He was wary when you told him to stand underneath the bare branches, but he did so anyway, and you instinctively wondered how much he trusted you. Then you shook off that thought and spoke to Cabeswater in your mind instead.

 _Now_ , you thought.

The warm breeze was subtle at first, then it was strong, just short of violent. Ronan was on edge, until he saw the look on your face. The season was changing to spring, then summer, then spring again. The tree grew pink. Cherry blossoms bloomed. They swayed in the wind, then drifted to the ground. Ronan was almost covered in them and you had to bite back a laugh.

Before you had asked Cabeswater for this last night, you had spent hours deliberating which flower would suit Ronan best when the incredulity of the situation finally hit you, and you realized that that was exactly it - you had to choose something that contrasted with him the most if only to make him smile.

He called you a jerk, but didn’t bother brushing the petals off him. You were pulled by his gaze, and you were glad that he liked it. He was happy even though he didn’t know how to tell you.

It seemed inevitable that the two of you would end up kissing for minutes, hours, or days on end under the mess of pink.

 

* * *

 

One night, he drove you back to St. Agnes.

You knew he just wanted to be with you, even though what had come out of his mouth instead was, “I wouldn't be caught dead in your shitbox.” Cabeswater had drained you too much in the past week for you to even feel a jab anymore.

You got out of the car, surprised when he touched your elbow and brought you into the church instead. As he dropped into one of the pews, you desperately tried not to recall the last time both of you were in here.

Ronan dying.

Ronan dead.

As if those memories were too heavy, you sat down next to him. You tilted your head up and stared at the painted ceiling, pretending that you couldn’t feel his eyes on you.

“Hey,” you heard him say, quietly, in this cavern of sacred things that made you feel as if you didn’t belong. It made you feel more tainted than usual - you were a black storm that could crush all things holy into smithereens, and for a moment, you felt yourself hate Ronan for bringing you in here.

“Adam,” you heard him call again, so you turned to look at him. Your irritation evaporated almost immediately, and you couldn’t avert your eyes from the look of reverence on his face.

You wondered if he knew that was how he looked. You figured that he would be annoyed if he did.

But as he crossed the space to press his lips against your unworthy ones, you realized that it was what he wanted you to see all along. It was not the first time the two of you kissed by any means, but it was the first time it felt like he had something to prove.

It came to you before you let yourself drown in him. Before you could trace his jaw and press your face into the crook of his neck when you finally had to breathe.

Religion might be an abstract concept to you, but God meant something much more to Ronan. He brought you into the church for a reason. He kissed you as a declaration.

His fingers tightened their hold on your old jacket, and you wondered how you ended up here with a boy so impossible.

So impossibly wonderful.

So impossibly beautiful.

Before you allowed logic to tell you how Ronan would knife you for using those words to describe him, you moved to kiss him this time.

As if you had something to declare, too.

 

* * *

 

“Stop fighting me,” he said.

You wanted to laugh, albeit bitterly, and you almost did. Because Ronan lived to fight, and those words fitted him like a poorly-tailored three piece suit. You were about to say something, probably sarcastic, but then your eyes met his.

There was no trace of mirth or malice in him. Instead, there was thinly veiled fear and hurt.

Hesitantly, your fingers traced those tightly drawn corners of his lips, and you wondered:

_Did I do this?_

_Why did I do this?_

You were reminded that you were a son of brutal fists and broken glass, and Ronan, who had kindness buried under him instead of ugliness like you, deserved something better.

You tried to step away, but you couldn’t. He sensed it anyway, and he held onto your wrist - gently, ever so gently. You opened your mouth to tell him that the two of you shouldn’t do this anymore, but he spoke first.

“Stop fighting.”

And you saw that he meant it. His jaw was clenched like every other time he stood his ground. You were reminded of him trying his best quietly and constantly - for his mother, for his brother... for you. You thought of him being careful with you when you didn’t even know that you needed it, because he knew that you had been knocked around enough.

You decided that you could be kind, too, or you would die trying. Ronan deserved that much, didn’t he?

So you whispered back, “Okay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If it's not obvious enough, this ship is ruining me. 
> 
> Title from [a song](https://youtu.be/TEu6FR8x0-c) by Run River North.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://yourladysansa.tumblr.com).


End file.
